


Wake Up

by simonsnowisgay



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, newt's animals r good boys, this is going to be Soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsnowisgay/pseuds/simonsnowisgay
Summary: Newt Scamander has successfully completed his expedition to America and he's headed home for some R&R with his magical creatures. Everything is normal, comfortable, as it should be until someone new comes into his life.





	Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hey babes this is chapter 1!!! I'm hoping to post once a week. Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are inspiring as well :)

An automated voice croaks on the speaker. “Newt Scamander to gangway five. Newt Scamander to gangway five.” Someone needs to pay Sally more. Her voice fades in then fades out on the old speaker.  
With a pencil stuck between his teeth, Newt walks up the gangway. The toe of his boot catches a piece of wood, and he continues on his way with reddened cheeks.  


The wind nips at his nose and throat, sliding up his coat sleeves and making him shiver. Newt pulls his coat tighter around himself. His case rattles. Seated, Newt rubs the leather, smoothing where there is nothing to smooth. He’s tucked the pencil in his shirt pocket. His journal remains nestled under his arm. “Settle down, please. We’ll be home soon.” He murmurs. The trip will take 20 days should the weather behave. He’s anxious to get his creatures back home—far, far away from the bustling city of New York. The trip was executed perfectly. Newt let Frank return to the plains of Arizona, where he belonged.  


Newt rubbed at his left eye, wiping a stray tear. He missed Frank—that beautiful bird—but he was happy his friend was free. They played for a few hours before Newt left, throwing a stick back and forth, with Newt trying not to get knocked over.  


Waves crash against the side of the boat, slicking the dark wood and making it darker. When the journey is half complete, Newt takes a stroll around the deck. It is the first time he has left the confines of his room without his suitcase. For now, an extra cord of twine knotted tight is keeping him sane. Can’t have one of his Nifflers sneaking out and wreaking havoc—though most of the people traveling on this boat are not the type to wear gold necklaces and diamond bracelets, his Niffler would be just as happy nabbing a gold pocket watch from a layman.  


Newt peeks over the side of the boat. He breathes in the salty smell, closes his eyes, and lets a memory wash over him like the sea envelops the edge of the boat.  


Home.  


His lovely little cottage comes to mind with its charming array of rooms and comfortable familiarity that inspires a loving, giddy feeling. Despite his appreciation for the comfort of his own little space, his passion lies in animals—traveling to five continents to study different magical species, collecting stool samples, comparing feathers to find the minute differences between the male and female of a near-extinct species of sea witch—that is where his heart is. No person or place could compare to the sense of fulfillment his animals give him.  


Home comes close. It is an extension of himself as much as his suitcase. Little scatterings of notes and drawings of creatures on his breakfast table, stained pages where he spilled coffee in his middle of the night, running on no sleep, having to take care of his new Occamies around the clock. Those pesky blue bipeds insisted he holds them—without petting—and he obliged, as always. He didn’t mind ruining half of his night’s work when the runt of the litter curled up on his shoulder and fell asleep. Newt stayed very still that night, and he never did go to sleep. The next morning he was back to work, feeding everyone breakfast.  
A strong wave crashes into the boat. The railing slips from his fingers and he falls. The sky is dark, black waves slosh, tilting the boat back and forth.  


His animals.  


Newt scrambles across the deck. The boat leans. He throws the door to his room open and finds his case rattling about.  
Newt digs through his pockets—he needs something to secure his case to the wall. He finds a tiny hole in the wall, threads some twine through and whispers a quick spell. The bind holds. Newt unbuckles the hatches and steps in, finds the ladder, and disappears inside.  


The air is warmer in his zoo, unless you step into an arctic habitat, and he shrugs his coat off and hangs it on the rack next to his scattered notes.  


“Terribly sorry everyone.” The ground is steady. The animals are frantic. He chops some lavender, spells some water to a boil and adds a drop of mulberry honey. Newt spritzes the concoction around each enclosure until the animals are calm. “That’s a bit better, yes? Who’s first for snuggles?”  


_______________

Newt has his forehead pressed to the wall. The ground sways. He takes a seat then, lying down on his little gray cot. The scratchy blanket rubs his forearms, so he rolls on his stomach, buries his face in the pillow like that will solve his problems. Today is the last stretch of the voyage. He feels sort of lost. The kind of lost where you know what you need—you know it is a part of you that is buried deep—but you haven’t tried yet. You wait. He sleeps sporadically, never quite used to the lull of boats despite his copious traveling habits. Newt rubs his face, lets out a low whine. He kicks his legs over the bed and sits up with a heavy breath.  


“Alright. Better to try than…” He stares at the empty room, voice waning until the silence of the room is unbearable. The loneliness gnaws at his feet, so he stands up, shakes his legs out, and opens the door. After one last glance at the suitcase, now tied under the bed, he heads up to the deck. After last week’s storm sailing has been smooth.  
He stands among a group of people chatting about the trip, politics, scandals in the wizarding world, all things he doesn’t take a particular interest in.  


A woman to his right, short, blonde, with an upturned nose regards him. He stares at the ground, not quite ready to meet her eyes. “You’re the one with the case right?” She’s British.  


He answers softly, turning his eyes up to meet her face. “Yes.”  


“I’ve don’t think I’ve seen one quite like that.” She smiles up at him.  


Newt, having been looking between her eyes rather than at him, now looks right at her. Green eyes. “Yes, well, it’s Italian leather. A bit old.” Her gentle laugh sounds like bells. Newt finds himself laughing too.  


“Italian leather. A bit old.” She mimics. “What’s inside?”  


“A dozen magical creatures.” He says, proud, confident. “My creatures. I’m a magizoologist.”  


She grins. “What did you say your name was?”  


“Oh, well, I didn’t.” For a moment, he hesitates, then says, “Newt.”  


“Newt.” She rolls it around her mouth. A man approaches, whispers something in her ear. Newt watches the exchange. She waves at him, then, “It was nice meeting you.”  


He waves, eyes glued on her shoes as she leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! this is my first time writing for Newt so suggestions are welcome and encouraged. Thank you for reading my fic!


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